


To Make a Monster

by turianjournalist16



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Gen, Torture, Vampires, dear god someone help him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turianjournalist16/pseuds/turianjournalist16
Summary: Takes place during the Dawnguard DLCWhen the latest Dawnguard recruit delivers Serana to her father, he thinks that he somehow got away with being able to bring valuable intelligence. However, when it comes to vampires, you should never take anything at face value...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Not good at titles! I was cleaning up my google drive and came across this fic I started in high school, decided I liked the concept and rewrote it to fit my current style. It's darker than what I'm used to writing so bare with me. I hope you enjoy!

Alaric left Volkihar castle or whatever the hell it was feeling ill. Leaving an elder scroll with a group of ancient, powerful vampires felt more than wrong, but the way they just let him leave made him feel worse. Something was off. He’d literally murdered everyone that Harkon prick sent to retrieve Serana and the scroll. Then, he said some pretty insulting things because he figured that, by turning down Harkon’s little “reward,” he was a dead man. Why not go down with some pizzazz? He kept a hand on his sword as he descended the ramp back to the snowy tundra. Isran was going to want to know about this. They’d figure out what to do when he got back and explained what had happened. A storm was coming. One that they needed to quell before it swallowed the world.

The gargoyles poised on either said seemed to watch him as he passed. Icy wind howled around him, swirling the snow in front of his eyes so that he couldn’t see beyond a few feet. Serena had seemed ok. A vampire? Yes. Yet she wasn’t hellbent on murdering everyone who crossed her path. She’d listened to him when he told her a basic summary of what happened in Tamriel over the last 1000 years. It’d been basic. He wasn’t exactly overly educated and he was sure a lot of it was made up, but he’d done his best. At least she’d laughed when he told an awful joke. Maybe he could persuade her to join his cause. It would be good to have someone who knows a little of what’s going on on their side, plus he did not trust that father of hers. He seemed more concerned about the elder scroll than his actual daughter. Yes, elder scrolls were precious, but if he had to choose between saving one and saving his family, he’d choose his family in a heartbeat. Who locks away their own flesh and blood for that? 

Something grabbed him by the shoulder. It was strong. He was dragged back against another person’s chest, a dagger placed at his throat. Struggling, he tried to get the person’s hand away, but he might as well have been trying to move a mountain. Dammit. He knew it had been too easy. 

“Lord Harkon wishes another word with you,” a voice like poisoned honey said in his ear. “I would suggest coming with me.”

He felt...he felt like he should. It would be easier since this vampire had a dagger at his throat and superior strength. He couldn’t really nod with the dagger at his throat, but he let the vampire lead him back up the ramp towards the entrance of the castle. Everything went foggy. It was like he’d entered a dream world where the vampire was actually his conscience driving him to do what it wanted rather than what the dream did. There was no danger. He felt himself get led away from the main door. They passed by more gargoyles and a few other vampires who seemed to be on guard in the dead of night. A few bats flew above their heads, dancing like evil spirits. 

They went through a small wooden door on the side. He was surrounded by blackness. The dagger was pressed harder at his throat as the vampire pushed him forward. He was led down the dark hallway for what seemed like an hour before there was a dim light up ahead. It seemed so inviting. His feet dragged against the stone of the floor. A chill ran down his spine. This was...this was wrong. It was wrong? Vampires could manipulate you into doing things you didn’t want to do. This was wrong.

His mind began to focus. Struggling again, he dug his heels in and tried to gain some type of leverage. The dagger cut at his throat. In his ear, he could hear a loud hiss that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Their grip was like iron. If he could just reach for the dagger he kept for emergencies, he might be able to do some type of damage. Unfortunately, the vampire grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. A yelp came out of him, barely covering up the sound of his bone snapping. Pain tore through him as the vampire let go and let it fall to his side, making his vision go spotty and everything seem suddenly so very far away. He knew a healing spell that would ease this. If he could move his other hand without the vampire noticing he might be able to...

As if reading his mind, the vampire grabbed his other arm. “Naughty little boys get punished. Don’t fight me again.” 

The haze fell back over him, the pain making it harder to fight off. They continued down the hall, the back of Alaric’s mind screaming at him to get out of there and find help. It felt like hours, but they were finally at the doorway the light was coming from. It blinded him. The vampire shoved him inside, making him fall on his now broken arm. His scream tore through the dazzling light as he tried to get off it. At least now, no one was holding him. The haze was dissipating again and his eyes were slowly becoming used to the light. He’d been in worse situations. Any nord adventurer worth their salt could get out of something like this. If anything, he still could heal. No one was going to hold him back from healing himself and fighting his way out. Serana might help him. He knew she was a decent person deep down. Then he would go back to Isran and tell him what happened. They could prepare to fight back against whatever Harkon was planning. 

His blood ran cold as everything came into focus. The room was opulent. It looked like the rooms of nobles, with plush red curtains, a red carpet, portraits hung on the walls, and even nicknacks that looked cost more than his whole armor set. In the center, though, instead of a bed there was a coffin. Sitting in a chair directly in front of him was Lord Harkon. The vampire was smirking down at him while sipping what was probably blood from a crystal goblet, returned to being unnaturally handsome from the vampire lord form he’d shown Alaric a little while ago. This was...could he still get out of this? Vampires were one thing, but a vampire lord was something he’d never faced before. 

“So, you were stupid enough to think I’d just let you go,” Harkon said. “How you slaughtered so many vampires is still beyond me.”

Clenching his teeth, Alaric tried to pull himself up. Harkon was fast, though. In a minute he was looking over Alaric, a sick smile splitting his face. He saw Alaric’s limp arm and brought his boot down hard on it. The young nord screamed. He could feel the inside of his armor become wet with blood. Gasping, he looked up at Harkon, trying to regain himself so the vampire bastard didn’t think he had the upper hand. Losing mentally was just as bad as losing physically. 

“There’s that Nordic tenacity that I love. It makes you so much more delicious when you fight every step of the way.” Harkon stepped off of Alaric’s arm, seeming to relish in the young nord’s grunts of pain. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you in a sense. You did bring me back the elder scroll...and my daughter. Plus, you did murder many a good vampire on your own with only a poorly made sword, an weak shield, and a crossbow. Killing you would be a waste. No. You need to be punished for your insolence while also being an asset to me. So, it is with great pleasure, I will be giving you the gift I offered.” 

Alaric felt Harkon’s cold hand grab him and drag him to his feet. Face to face with Harkon’s burning eyes, his blood ran cold as he stared into them. There were no whites to them. Just dark, black voids with two circles of burning light that reminded him of the stories of the daedric realm. Fire and malice. Harkon tore off the gauntlet Alaric had been wearing then straightened out his arm with an iron grip on his shoulder that rendered him unable to move. If it hurt, his broken arm hurt worse. He needed to remain calm. There had to be a way out; he always found a way to win. Some weakness to exploit or something overlooked or—

“Agghhhh!” 

Harkon sank his fangs into Alaric’s wrist. Breathing heavy, he tried to pull himself free before the vampire lord drained him. It was like trying to get out of a manacle. There was a little movement but nothing would make it open without the jailer’s say so. Everything seemed to grow heavy. It was like his whole body was on fire and slipping into icy water at the same time. His vision began to tunnel. Thinking became hard as his head seemed to empty. This was...by the divines he was going to die right here. Just let him die. It was a better fate than the gift Harkon wanted to give him. What would he...how would he...

The world began to spin. Suddenly, he was staring at the stone ceiling. There was old, dried up blood directly above him that he focused on. His breath rattled. Everything felt so cold, so cold. A light was beginning to shine in the corners of his eyes. Would his family be on the other side? In Sovngarde? They’d been good people. Strong warriors right up to their deaths when the civil war first broke out. He thought of his mother. She’d been a shield maiden. A strong, fierce woman who’d taught him everything he knew about fighting. Yet, he remembered her in a simple blue dress, her blonde hair loose and flowing in the wind as she sang an ancient ballad. Suddenly, he felt like he was at home. She was standing by the river, the last place he’d seen her before she and his father left early in the morning to fight the stormcloaks. He’d been upset that they were leaving him behind. Out of anger, he’d ignored every warning she said about not getting the full picture of someone’s intent. Was he now...

The image of her was gone as warm, metallic liquid filled his mouth. At first, he gagged on it, trying to get it out of his mouth, but then he realized how thirsty he was. It became sweet. Running down his throat, it seemed to ignite every fire in him. A distant laugh echoed around him. Then he knew no more. 

********

Water dripped onto Alaric’s head. It ran through his hair and down his nose like an egg cracked over his head. He opened his eyes. Why did he feel so thirsty? A wave of panic overtook him when he saw the bars of a cell. He scrambled up. All of his armor and weapons were gone, along with any memory of where he was. The last thing he remembered was walking out of Castle Volkihar. Was he still there? Had Harkon gone back on his word? No. Not that couldn’t be. The vampire had been grateful that he had returned Serana to him. Was it the Thalmor? They’d had a secret prison out here. He wasn’t a stormcloak, though. Yes, he worshipped Talos, but in secret like every other nord. This must be some mistake. It had to be. 

“Oh, good, I was beginning to worry I’d accidentally killed you,” a voice said as a figure walked in front of the cell’s bars. His heart sank.

It was Harkon.

Alaric rushed to the cell door and slammed into the bars with a surprising amount of force. Growling, he asked, “Why am I in here?” 

“Newborn vampires tend to be messy and I can’t afford a mess right now,” Harkon said with a wave of his hand. Alaric’s face went white. “Besides, I can’t have my new asset trying to kill me. No, you need to learn your place in the coven.” 

Steeling his courage, Alaric grit his teeth. “You’re lying.” 

“Am I? Well, if that’s the case then it will be completely fine for me to leave this nice woman in there with you.”

Two other vampires that he was pretty sure he’d seen when he dropped off Serana came around the corner. In their arms was a struggling woman in a tattered dress. Alaric could  _ smell  _ her from here. It was a sweet, tantalizing scent that made his mouth water. He was so thirsty. Covering his nose and mouth as if trying to block out the scent, he took a step back. This was wrong. What was wrong with him? He just wanted to sink his teeth into her and drink as if she were a stream in the middle of a desert. Oh gods! Slowly, memories started coming together. Harkon had...that bastard...

His back hit the wall. Harkon opened the cell door and the two vampires through the woman inside. She looked up at Alaric as the door slammed shut. A bunny trapped in a cage with a hungry wolf, she scrambled away from him into a corner. He was so thirsty. Slowly, he advanced on her as if he was a slave to his thirst. The only thing he could hear was the pulsing of her heart. It filled his ears like a drum that was quickening with each step he took, fast enough to make him worry it would break before he made it to her. She was pretty too, even under the grime. A good nord woman with auburn hair that looked wild from fighting against capture. No. He should be protecting her. He should be trying to get them both out of here. The Dawnguard needed to know what was happening here before it was too late. He—

She screamed as he bit into her neck, sharp fangs releasing her blood. It tasted so good. It was as sweet as snowberry juice and with each drop he felt himself getting stronger. More strength. More power. That’s what he needed to get out of here. To defeat this bastard. He needed more. So, he drank and he drank and he drank until, finally, she went still. 

He removed himself from her neck. Sated. It felt like he’d been renewed. He looked down at the woman and...

What had he done?

Her lifeless eyes were looking at him in horror. He suddenly felt nauseous. The body fell to the floor with a dull thud as the room around him swayed a little. When he looked out of the cell, he saw Harkon standing there with a smirk on his face. Alaric wanted to rip his face off. He rushed the cell door again, this time, he slammed into it with enough force to give it a small shake. Harkon seemed impressed. 

“You made me—!”

“I didn’t  _ make _ you do anything. You’re just a hungry child who saw food ready for the taking,” he turned his back on Alaric. “You should get some rest. You’re going to need it.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been finished for like weeks but every time I open my laptop I end up playing World of Warcraft instead. Enjoy :)

The cell door slammed open and two gloved hands grabbed Alaric roughly under the arms, dragging him out. It’d been like this for a long time now. How long? He’d lost track. Everyday it was the same. They’d strap him down to the rough wooden table like they were doing now, tight enough to render him immobile even with his new strength. After that, they left him there for hours while the sun slowly sank past the window. It was like they had a fire rolling slowly over his body. Blinding, burning, he would have clawed his own skin off if he wasn’t bound. He gritted his teeth, trying not to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain. It was hard though. Today, he barely lasted five minutes before the first shrieks escaped his lips. He just wanted it to end. They say everything gets easier with time, but the pain only gets worse. It only gets worse. 

After the sun went down, the torturer came in. He couldn’t tell who it was, they wore a mask all the time. Sometimes, he thought it was different people. Today, they sauntered in, a mask over their face in which only their burning eyes shone like small torch fires in an abandoned cave. They wore a long black robe that Alaric had only seen on necromancers and, today, had a long whip with them. Alaric only gave them a blank stare. Goading them leads to pain. Pleading leads to pain. Silence leads to pain, but in staying silent he had some control. Control of his emotions. His responses. His anger. The gnawing hunger that he hadn’t wanted to sate since the incident with the woman. If he died during torture, he wouldn’t have to worry about it. He wouldn’t have to worry about the questions he kept getting asked or if Serana was alright. He’d just be dead. With that came a whole other host of issues he’d have to deal with, but this would be over. It would all be over. 

“Hmm...still not eating?” The torturer said, sliding their hand up his thigh to his stomach. “That’s not good. You’ll end up worse than a rabid dog.”

Alaric just stared ahead, letting out a gasp as the torturer touched a fresh burn. The torturer stopped there and began to put more pressure on it, scabbed flesh cracking. Just as his mind was about to float off to get away from the pain, it stopped. The torturer had moved on. He hated the toying and the pain and the hunger. He hated what he was. He hated what they wanted him to become. Hate. Hate. Hate. He’d never hated so much in his life. It was numbing him to the world. Would it be so bad to act like a monster now that he’d physically become one? He didn’t have to direct his rage towards innocent people, just the other monsters. The torturer...Harkon...they could all die and the world would be a better place despite his own existence. 

Gritting his teeth, Alaric glared as the torturer continued to scrape their hand against the burns as they moved up his body. “Oh, you’re feeling defiant today. Good. It’s so  _ boring  _ when someone just gives up.” They trailed their fingers over his neck. “I know you’re going to  _ love  _ to hunt down your food. Play with them. Make them think they have a fighting chance as you go in for the kill. Their blood will taste so much sweeter.” 

The gnawing hunger the pain had filed to the back of his mind came forward. It brought back images of his first feed: the way the sweet liquid had run down his throat, the way it hadn’t felt wrong. But it was. He spent his nights saying it was. He’d ignored the hunger when they gave him those blood packs, but it was getting harder and harder. They kept the people they were going to eat in cells close to his. He could always smell them. Everyday it was getting more potent...more delicious. When his mind recovered from the night’s activities, his thoughts turned to fantasies about breaking out of the cell and eating one of those poor souls. Sometimes, he’d imagine he was standing in front of Harkon. The blood renewed him enough so that he could tear the vampire lord apart for what he’d done to him. He wanted blood. He needed it. It was like someone had stranded him in the desert and there was a caravan riding alongside him full of food and water that they offered him, yet he knew that all of it was full of poison. To kill someone, a person, just to sustain himself was wrong. It was. They may have turned him, but he wasn’t going to be a monster like them. 

Leaning in closer, the torturer seemed to be inspecting Alaric. “So strong, yet you can’t hide that you want blood. Why do you deny yourself?” 

He turned away. 

The torturer worked his fingers between Alaric’s cheek and the blood-stained wooden table. Gently, they tried to turn Alaric’s head back to face them, but he wouldn’t budge. That’s how vampires worked. That’s how he was taught they worked. They get under your skin and twist your head until you do whatever they say. No. Not today. He wasn’t going to give into them. He wasn’t going to become what they wanted just because they said some words and caused him pain. There were rumors. Someone in the marshes near Morthal was looking into a cure for vampirism. If he could get out of here, if he could get back to his friends in the Dawnguard, they could look for this person. There was no way he could kill Harkon. Not unless he gave into his hunger which he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do. Yes. He’d do that. Then he and the dawnguard could stop whatever the hell Harkon was planning to do with that Elder Scroll...and Serana. It still made his skin crawl. She’d been trapped for over a thousand years and Harkon was more concerned with a glorified piece of parchment. It was also odd he’d chosen his own daughter to safeguard it. There were so many others deadly loyal to him. Did—

Before he could complete his thoughts, the torturer yanked his head back to face them. He glared into their burning eyes. The mask...he didn’t know the point of the mask other than a vague attempt to unnerve him. It was bone white with the paint cracking in places. The mouth was painted a deep red. Depictions of nightshade swirled up from the cheekbones and around the eye holes; some of the leaves had flecks of red on them. He wanted to rip it off. Expose the coward and watch the fear in their eyes as he tore out their throat. A wave of exhaustion hit him. The torturer dug their free hand into one of the burns on his arm left by the sun that he’d betrayed. He did his best not to scream. He was too weak to act on any of his fantasies right now. 

“You will look at me, you defiant little boy,” the torturer hissed, squeezing so hard Alaric thought his bone would snap. “You know how to make this all stop. Just be what Lord Harkon wants and help us usher in a new age.”

Alaric grunted, not wanting to show anything but knowing he was failing 

The torturer let go, voice sounding much calmer. “Fine. I’ve always liked it when my playmates still have a little spark left in them for this part anyway.” 

He felt the bindings on his arms get undone one at a time. The torturer held them both tightly so he wouldn’t get any ideas, tying them together with a rough rope. After giving it a good tug to be satisfied, he then untied Alaric’s feet. This was new. It’s not very often a torturer was allowed to break from the usual routine. If they were different people like Alaric expected, it might help keep anonymity if he were to break and join their ranks. It would be in Harkon’s best interest not to have his own vampires killing each other. Finding out someone’s preferred flavor of torture would be like finding out someone’s favorite color. If he did get out and find a way to reverse what Harkon did to him, he might be able to figure out who was causing him so much pain and then kill them. Were they thinking he was going to break soon? He wasn’t. They were all stupid if they thought he was. He was a nord. He was a fighter. He would not be pushed by the likes of them. 

The torturer dragged him off the table. Alaric fought the entire time, but the torturer was so much stronger than he was. It was like he was chained to a stone wall. He was pulled over to a metal post bolted into the stone floor next to an array of torture tools on a metal rack. The torturer kicked the back of his leg to bring him down to his knees in front of the post. After that, his arms were tightly tied to the post above his head so that all he could see was dark metal. 

He heard the torturer behind him. He could feel them hovering inches away as they leaned over him. They dragged their slimy tongue from the base of his jaw up to his ear. A wave of revulsion ripped through him. His arms strained against the ropes as he tried to get away. “When you finally join us, you’re going to be so handsome. Forgive me for wanting a taste.” 

Fighting off the urge to just rip his arms off and make a run for it, he tried to remain strong. This was just a tactic. A gross tactic meant to show he’d be welcome if he just gave in to everything. It was nothing. He had to make it nothing so no one could see it was affecting him. Harkon’s vampires were vile creatures who didn’t care about people unless they were their next meal. He didn’t even know if they cared about each other. If Harkon truly did see his own daughter as a means to an end like Alaric suspected he did, then he doubted his clan was any different. Birds of a feather. If they wanted to show they were going to be some sort of bizarre family to him, there were better ways to do that. He tried to get it out of his head. Getting unnerved now would let them win. He needed to stay strong. It was just so gross. Who in Oblivion would do that? Well, who besides Sheogorath would do that? Everyone knows that Daedric Prince is a freak. Okay, maybe Sanguine too. Oblivion might not have been the best choice in places where people would not lick other people. 

Even their footsteps sounded smug as the torturer took a step back. After a few moments, Alaric heard the crack of a whip dangerously close to his head. He’d seen people get tied to the post before. It was a common punishment for some crimes in Skyrim. Whipping didn’t necessarily destroy someone’s livelihood like losing a hand would and the experience lasted in the public’s eye for longer. He remembered being in town once when he was younger. His father had needed to buy a new hatchet from the town blacksmith after losing his old one in the river. Alaric had been told to wait outside. The town square bustled around as he sat on the front steps playing with a stick he’d found until the guards started clearing everyone out. His own father and the blacksmith came out when they saw everyone cleared to the sides. The guards had marched a man to the post in the center, tied him up, and read his crimes. It had been something petty. Insulting a noble or something. Either way, the man was given thirty lashes that Alaric’s father made him watch. Why? He was told it was because the way the man had endured his punishment showed the kind of person he was. The way the man never begged for mercy or cried showed he was repentant. It showed he wanted to regain his honor. Alaric had never thought he’d ever lose his honor and get tied to a post and, frankly, he didn’t think he’d lost his honor yet. It was never a punishment he’d thought he’d endure. Then again, he’d never thought he’d become a vampire either. 

He heard the crack of the whip behind him. If his heart had still beat, it would have been trying to break through his ribs. The torturer didn’t make any more comments. Alaric only knew what was coming when he heard the whip slice through the air...then the flesh on his back. 

_ One.  _

He kept his focus on the specks of blood on the pole in front of him, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out. He’d done enough screaming for today.

_ Two.  _

Tears began to well in his eyes. The damp, salt filled air was already getting at the wounds. 

_ Three. _

His vision began to tunnel again. Little specks of light seemed to dance right at his narrowing peripherals. 

_ Four... _

_... _

_... _

“What are you doing?” An outraged voice yelled, pulling Alaric back to reality.

His back felt as though he’d been flayed alive. It burned and stung, but the rest of him felt so cold. His arms were going numb. Just let it end...just let it end...

Someone untied his arms and he felt himself fall sideways into that someone. The world was still spinning. He couldn’t make out the figure holding him. They were just a vague black shape in the dim torch light. Was it Serana? No. The voice hadn’t sounded like hers. She probably thought he was dead anyway. It did sound familiar though. He just couldn’t place it. 

As he drifted back into unconsciousness, he felt something drip into his mouth. It was warm and sweet and...

It was blood. 

With whatever strength he found, he tried to get away from whoever was trying to corrupt him further. He could barely pull himself from the floor. The familiar yet unknown voice laughed somewhere behind him. 

“Are you really going to martyr yourself by crawling on the floor like a worm? Such a waste of our gift to you.” 

The world began to slowly fade out. No. No. No. He did his best to hold on, to show some type of strength, but his consciousness still left him. The last thoughts he had was that he wasn’t going to be some bug for them to crush. They were going to regret this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love and appreciate you all! Stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love and appreciate you all! Alaric was my first character I ever made in Skyrim!


End file.
